Good With Words
by Domiel
Summary: The Doctor, John Watson, has been traveling the universe alone for quite some time. Little did he know that he would find (or rather - be found by) his companion while stopping for some tea.


The details of how he had gone from Afghanistan to a little blue box were blurred, but John remembered certain things. The first being his middle name. This must have been important because it was printed on his nametag. _Dr. John Hamish Watson. _This was much too long a name so the second thing he remembered was that everyone at the army base had called him, simply, 'the doctor' and it was a name that had stuck.

Now, as he whirred his way through time and space in a thing that much resembled the embroidery on his grandmother's pillows, John introduced himself as The Doctor to all he met. And he met many. Strange people that weren't really people, if you had a closer look and a scan with a screwdriver, robots that danced, fish that flew, things one had to look twice at to acknowledge as creatures and not wardrobes.

Though some would say that he had seen it all, John knew he could never see it all. But there wasn't anyone alongside him to say that.

His travels were endless, however. The more planets he visited, the more he longed to visit more. He enjoyed conversing with extra-terrestrial beings, particularly ones who enjoyed doing so over tea. Little did he know, however, that the most interesting creature he would ever meet would be from the very place in which he grew up.

It was London in January. The weather was cold, as it normally was, and the sky was cloudy. John wouldn't have stopped here at all (he was on his way to visit the Ood) but no matter how many nectars and coffees and wines he tried in other universes, no stardust milkshake could beat a good old-fashioned cup of English tea.

He sat in a humble café, Speedy's, on Baker Street. He had always liked to take his dog for a walk down this street as a child. His TARDIS was parked outside, but people passed it by as if it wasn't a police box straight out of the 1960's, but a taxi or a bus stop. _Perception filters. Fascinating things, _John thought as he watched a lady in a blue coat that matched the colour of the TARDIS pass it by. He took a sip of his tea and closed his eyes. _Most certainly nothing better. _

When he opened his eyes again a very tall man in a dark coat broke his blissful moment. He was standing directly in front of the TARDIS, staring at it. He proceeded to inspect it from all four sides, his long coat swishing around his long legs as he walked briskly around it, bending down to get a closer look every so often, his hands folded behind his back.

All this was very surprising to John, but not as surprising as when the man leant over and smelled the TARDIS, following this up with running a long finger down one of the panels and then licking it.

John dropped some money on the table and made for the door. He wasn't certain if it was the correct currency, but it hardly mattered when a complete stranger had broken through the perception filter.

"Hello, I'm The Doctor." John said briskly, standing behind the man.

The man turned around appearing unconcerned. His light green eyes ran over John's entire body before settling their cold gaze back onto John's own. He cocked an eyebrow.

"Sherlock."

"I see you've been admiring my TARDIS." John smiled tightly. He only said this because he wanted to test Sherlock's reaction at such a strange name given to a seemingly ordinary object, to find out if he was perhaps not who he claimed to be.

"An acronym, I assume?" Sherlock didn't tear his gaze away from the white sign on the police box. His shiny black curls billowed in the wind as he threw his head back to inspect the light on its roof.

"You're not from here." It wasn't a question. Sherlock was still squinting up at the roof.

Suddenly, John had an urge to tell him everything. He already knew too much, having noticed the TARDIS, why not show him even more? Why not show him it all?

"H-how did you know that?" John said, feeling uncomfortable about inviting a complete stranger… _inside_.

"Oh, your hair, your tan, your eyes, the bottoms of your trousers, basically, _everything_!" He spun around dramatically, raising his voice on the last word.

"The lint and dust on your sweater, however, is unlike any that I have ever recorded in this vicinity so I would appreciate it if you would allow me to take samples."

John stared at him, not confirming his hopes. How could those tiny details possibly tell him _anything_, much less something so important! It didn't make any sense to him. But he imagined what Sherlock would say if he could see the stars. What would he say about the dust on mars, for example? It would most probably match his samples from John's sweater. He could imagine them laughing about it.

"Do you want to come with me?" He finally choked out.

"I need to fetch my violin," Sherlock replied simply, without missing a beat. "I need it to think."

Secretly, John was thrilled that Sherlock thought they would be gone for so long that he needed to fetch his belongings. He followed Sherlock up the stairs of an apartment marked _221B,_ right next to Speedy's. Oh, he did hope he had given them the correct currency.

They had arrived in a messy room with the expected furniture and an unexpected skull placed on the mantle. John was just about to ask about it when a piercing screech filled the air. Sherlock stood in the middle of the messy room, his right elbow flamboyantly raised, holding a bow he had just scraped along his violin.

"I'm ready."

* * *

John anticipated bringing Sherlock onto the TARDIS with great excitement. He couldn't wait to see him acknowledge its dimensions for the first time, to hear 'it's bigger on the inside'. But when John proudly flung open the door, Sherlock was silent.

"Well?" John said, expectantly.

But Sherlock didn't reply. He simply dumped his violin on the control system and leaned silently against a rail, pressing all his fingertips together in front of his face. He stayed like that for three hours. Then four. John began to think that bringing him was a mistake, but he was so quiet that he soon partially forgot about him, getting caught up in his controls and gadgets.

When Sherlock's voice pierced the silence that had accompanied John for so many years, he jumped.

"Time And Relative Dimension in Space." Sherlock said, his deep voice slow.

John gasped and spun around to stare at Sherlock, who was observing him, unblinking, from behind his still-folded hands.

"How could you have possibly known that?" John spluttered.

A corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched up in a dry half-smile.

"I'm good with words." He said, raising an eyebrow.


End file.
